“A spell that greatly enhances dynamic vision?” Ronan had no idea what Viscount Marco was thinking.
He mulled over the contents of the book, his expression calm but thoughtful.
Greatly enhanced dynamic vision…
Was it overpowered?
Not particularly.
In simple terms, it just enhanced one’s ability to perceive the trajectory of moving objects, allowing for faster evasion of attacks.
Ronan clearly remembered a comic he’d read years ago that had a scene just like this.
The apocalypse had struck, zombies roamed everywhere, and the protagonist injected himself with a human enhancement serum—stepping outside, he could clearly track the trajectory of every single raindrop as it fell.
Back then, Ronan had thought that scene was incredibly impressive—if he could see tens of thousands of individual raindrops, surely fighting off zombies would be a breeze.
And yet, in the story that followed, whenever the fight was unwinnable, it remained unwinnable.
Because the human body had its limits, and that limit was the threshold at which dynamic vision could actually be put to use.
Being able to see a pistol bullet and dodge it didn’t mean you could dodge a sniper round.
Which was exactly why breaking past that limit mattered so much.
And as things stood now, Ronan wasn’t bound by that kind of limit at all.
In other words.
This spell might as well have been custom-made for him.
It could push his current advantages to their absolute peak.
Ronan sat upright on the sofa, his eyes lowered, his expression outwardly calm as he considered how this kind of spell might pair remarkably well with high-speed movement.
Just now, twenty-times speed had already been pushing the limits of his reaction time—and beyond that lay thirty-times, fifty-times, a hundred-times speed…
Leaving dynamic vision unused, sitting idle in his ability roster, would be a genuine waste when he thought about it.
“What kind of spell is this?” Frieren glanced at the grimoire as well, but with so much text packed into it, she couldn’t make sense of it right away.
Ronan answered offhandedly: “By classification, it falls under human body enhancement magic, similar to the buff spells used by clerics, though the underlying mechanism works differently.” “It has a noticeable effect on mages and warriors alike, among other classes.” With that, he raised his eyes to look at Viscount Marco, “I didn’t expect your household to have such a rare piece in its collection…
I’m quite pleased with this gift.” “Oh, please, there’s no need for such formal titles with me.
You’re the man who saved my nephew’s life.” Viscount Marco waved his hands repeatedly, genuinely uneasy at being addressed with such deference.
It wasn’t only because of Ronan’s supposedly hidden status—he was even more struck by the sheer speed with which the man had parsed the spell.
It was astonishing.
He’d shown this kind of spell to others before, and even some first-rate mages had needed a full minute just to work through its contents.
Compared to the single glance Ronan had given it…
Unless he’d already studied this exact spell before, his magical attainment had to run far deeper than Marco had ever imagined.
Viscount Marco took a deep breath, steadying his emotions for a moment, then continued after a brief pause: “I’m glad it pleases you.
Just as you said, this is indeed a human body enhancement spell, one that strengthens the eyes specifically.” “Throughout history, the eyes have always been the single most vital organ in combat against an enemy.” “Countless soldiers on the battlefield have lost their lives simply because they failed to see an attack coming in time.” “But with this, one’s combat ability improves dramatically—attacks that were once impossible to dodge can now be avoided.” “Elves can use it too.
The effect lasts ten minutes.” Of course, Viscount Marco’s reason for gifting this particular grimoire wasn’t purely gratitude—it was also a calculated attempt to win favor by appealing to Frieren, the elf at Ronan’s side.
No one who rose to the rank of nobility got there by being a fool; even the flattery he was offering now carried a hint of careful testing.
He couldn’t take his nephew’s words entirely at face value.
But given how things had unfolded so far, watching Ronan’s every move closely, he’d come to believe them at least seventy or eighty percent.
Ronan nodded.
“Elves can use it too, that’s convenient.” “Ten minutes should be plenty.” He was every bit as sharp as the viscount, and had seen through the man’s little calculations at a single glance—he understood exactly why this particular spell had been chosen as a gift.
That captain, Martin, must have told him something.
The man’s oddly deferential behavior clearly stemmed from whatever had been said.
“Probably told him I’m someone dangerous, not to be crossed.
People bowing to strength…
of course, even nobility isn’t immune to that.” Ronan mused to himself, though he’d more or less expected as much.
Still, seeing a nobleman—someone who normally held the power of life and death over others—acting this cautious, this deferential in front of him.
A strange, indescribable pleasure rippled quietly through his chest all the same.
This was what it felt like to be respected by others.
None of it belonged to him, though.
It all came from Feng Ling Yue Ying.
Without it, he’d be nothing more than a talented novice mage.
Not even a match for Frieren.
So, he still needed to grow stronger.
Only by getting his baseline self to even a tenth of the strength he had with the cheats active could he truly stand on his own in this world.
That way, even if the cheats vanished one day, he’d still be able to live freely and without worry.
While Ronan sank into these thoughts, Viscount Marco carried on talking about the current state of the city, entirely unaware his guest’s mind had wandered elsewhere.
It wasn’t until Frieren gently patted the back of his hand that the soft touch pulled him back to reality.
“Sorry, where were we?” Ronan asked.
Viscount Marco froze for a moment, mistakenly assuming his own rambling had bored the man, and hurriedly said: “I was speaking about the food market issue you brought up earlier.” “To be honest, my own thoughts on the matter happen to align with yours.” “It’s just that I don’t have sufficient funds to raise grain prices enough to attract merchants from other regions.” “How much would you need?” Ronan asked directly.
Given that Viscount Marco had just presented him with such a generous gift, it wouldn’t do to be stingy in return.
As for whether flaunting his wealth might invite unwanted attention?
Times were different now.
Under the current circumstances, the more money he was willing to throw around, the more respect he’d earn from Viscount Marco—since it signified a status whose depths couldn’t be measured.
Hearing Ronan’s confident tone, as if he could buy out the entire grain market without blinking.
Viscount Marco hesitated for a moment, a flicker of testing calculation crossing his eyes.
He bit his lip slightly, then carefully named a figure: “Five thousand gold coins.” “My family, the Millers, can contribute around two thousand of that.
The remaining three thousand…” Viscount Marco’s full name was Marco Miller—his family had a two-hundred-year lineage, making them an old, established noble house.
Even so, without cutting into the family’s core resources, two thousand gold coins was about the most he could spare.
Asking Ronan to cover the remaining three thousand all at once felt, to Marco, like he might be overstepping.
Though the investment would eventually pay for itself, given the immeasurable value of a reopened trade route, there was no telling exactly how long that might take.
He’d already braced himself for the possibility of walking away empty-handed.
And yet…
“Three thousand?” Ronan shook his head.
“Forget splitting it.
I’ll cover the full five thousand.
But I do have one condition.” His expression remained composed.
He clasped his hands together, leaning forward slightly, his gaze steady and open as he looked at Viscount Marco, “On my way here, I saw a statue of you in the town square.
How about you put one up for us too?” He paused briefly, a hint of insight flickering in his eyes, “The reason you’re doing all this is probably to raise your own standing, isn’t it?” Nobles rarely acted without an eye toward power, reputation, or profit—especially when it came to committing large sums of money.
When it came to men like Marco, Ronan doubted anyone in that position would part with thousands of gold coins without expecting something in return.
After all, not everyone could treat gold coins as worthless as dirt, the way he did.
Taking into account the man’s status as both noble and territorial lord, Ronan, drawing on novels he’d read in his past life, guessed that Viscount Marco was probably angling for further advancement in his career.
Public goodwill was, after all, a valuable currency of its own.